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Sarah Brown Weitzman

Ode to Your Feet

How modestly and unashamed
your feet peeled out of their socks,
like a secret revealed.

Almost hands
but more square, white
as wrists. Shy
shadows between each toe.

Never brazen
as big toes can be
,
sticking out from under sheets.

Never flinging themselves about
like hands. Never bending
or scraping like knees

or bulging obscenely like muscles
and loins. Solid as columns
of legs but stupid

as cauliflower, yes, stupid.
Stupid, stupid feet
that walked you away.

Although she read poetry every single day since childhood, Sarah Brown Weitzman did not dare write poetry until she was nearly forty. She writes to preserve, in words, the permanency of the world around her. She has been widely published and is grateful that others can feel what she feels through her poems. She received a Fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts. A departure from poetry, her latest book, Herman and the Ice Witch, is a children’s novel published by Main Street Rag.

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